A Spacetime That Might Exist (4)

In the center of the village, the smell of scorched earth had not yet dissipated.

After Genau finished speaking, there was a moment of silence.

Frieren thought for a moment and nodded.

"Alright, let's start our investigation with the northern stronghold where the Demons are most likely to exist."

Genau hummed in agreement, his gaze sweeping over the stone house he had placed a barrier around.

"I'll wait for the Norm Knights to come and take the body away, then I'll join you."

"I understand," Frieren replied.

Stark took half a step forward.

"I'll stay in the village too."

Genau turned to look at him, his dark eyes devoid of emotion.

Are you an idiot?

Stark was taken aback.

"These three girls are likely to go to war with the Demons next. How can they fight without a vanguard?"

"Without the vanguard," Stark looked at him, "You're the same, aren't you? What if the Demons come here?"

"I'm fine," Genau said calmly, arms crossed. "I'm the type who can fight normally even without a vanguard."

"Frieren and the others are probably the same."

"Yes," Frieren replied, "But there are still limits."

"Even so," Stark turned to her, "If things get bad, we can still escape unscathed, right? After all, she's Frieren."

Frieren blinked.

I guess so.

Stark looked at Genau again.

"But you can't abandon the village and run away."

Genau paused for a moment.

The wind passed between them, swirling up a few charred, broken leaves that twirled in the air before gently falling back down.

"Stark," he began, his voice lower but each word clear, "What lies here is nothing but a pile of corpses."

"But didn't you stay to protect these corpses?"

Genau looked at him for a few seconds, then looked away, gazing at the distant horizon of the wasteland.

"Do as you please."

The sun had shifted further west, casting long, distorted shadows across the ruins.

Genau gazed at the scorched earth, his shoulders and back appearing particularly stiff in the fading light. He didn't speak until about half a cup of tea had cooled.

"Stark, you are a kind person."

His voice was not loud.

People like that usually don't live long.

Stark crossed his arms, his toes unconsciously grinding against a small piece of broken tile on the ground.

"You have no right to judge me. In my opinion, you're a good person too, yet you're trying to protect these corpses all by yourself. If it were me, I definitely wouldn't do that."

"No, I'm not exactly a good person."

"It's quite the opposite. I've killed people, and I've stood by and watched people die on many occasions. For the peace of the Northern Countries, I'll do anything."

He exhaled softly, the breath condensing into a brief wisp of white mist in the cool air before quickly dissipating.

"Perhaps it's karma. I've become numb to the death of others. If someone dies in front of me, I won't feel the slightest sadness. Even though my hometown has been destroyed, I feel nothing; I just feel that I should stay here to protect the corpses."

He lowered his head, looking at his outstretched palm, his five fingers slowly closing and then opening again.

"Having stood idly by in the face of countless tragedies, I honestly don't know what the point of doing this is."

Stark opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end he just hugged his arms tighter. He turned to look in the direction where Frieren and the others had left; the end of the dirt road was already deserted.

The wind swept through the ruins, raising fine ash that swirled up into the gloomy sky.

In the distance, several black birds landed on the charred wood, tilting their heads to look this way.

Genau stopped speaking.

He simply sat quietly, his back straight, like a stone statue guarding this deathly silence.

Meanwhile, on the other side...

Frieren, Fern, and Methode left the village and headed north on the dirt road.

After walking a distance, the outline of the village gradually blurred behind us, eventually being swallowed up by the undulating terrain.

The wind whipped up sand and gravel, which pattered against my legs.

Frieren slowed her pace and turned to look at Fern and Methode. Her silver hair was blown back by the wind, resembling a small handful of flowing snow in the dim light.

"From now on, stop using Wide-Area Magic Perception."

Her voice was steady.

"If we encounter a skilled opponent, it will only expose our location."

Fern nodded, his pale purple eyes appearing exceptionally calm.

"OK."

She held her staff in her hand, her gaze sweeping across every ridge and shadow in the wilderness ahead like a comb.

Frieren's gaze lingered on the two faces for a moment, and the corners of her mouth curved upwards into an almost contented little cat mouth.

"However, there's still a distance to the next stronghold."

Her tone became more relaxed, even carrying a hint of leisurely stroll.

Let's chat as we go.

Fern looked at her, raising his eyebrows slightly.

"Is this alright? You look so relaxed..."

She looked at Frieren's slightly squinted expression, like a cat basking in the sun, and her voice carried a familiar helplessness. That helplessness was mixed with a hint of indulgent "here we go again."

Frieren nodded matter-of-factly, her head bobbing slightly in response.

"Relaxing is also important. And communication can improve teamwork skills."

She turned to Methode and winked.

"After all, this is the first time Methode is teaming up with us. So, Fern, you don't know this, do you?"

Fern pursed his lips, a slight downward curve forming at the corners of his mouth, indicating that he "reluctantly accepted this statement."

"Hmm..."

Methode, walking on the other side of Frieren, became unusually serious upon hearing this. She stopped, turned to Frieren, bowed slightly, clasped her hands in front of her, and spoke in a very earnest tone.

"In that case--"

She looked up at Frieren, her eyes shining with a clear light.

"May I pat Miss Frieren's head?"

Frieren's relaxed expression Frozen instantly. Her eyes widened, and she took a half-step back, her emerald green eyes clearly reflecting "danger" and "rejection." She even subconsciously raised her hand to protect the top of her head.

"No."

Her voice was a little faster than usual, with a clear, resolute tone.

"... What nonsense is this person spouting with such a straight face?" Fern muttered under her breath, immediately moving behind Frieren and placing her hands on her shoulders, her fingers slightly tightening, as if to keep her master at a safe distance. Her pale purple eyes peeked out from behind Frieren's shoulders, watching Methode warily.

Methode seemed completely oblivious to the fact that her request was wrong. She maintained her earnest expression, her posture unchanged, and even her tone carried a hint of regret. That regret was genuine, like a child who hadn't received the candy they wanted.

"When I see a small, adorable child, I can't help but want to pat her head."

She seemed to remember something, and her gaze drifted into the distance.

"However, Lady Serie doesn't seem to like me touching her. She looks unhappy whenever I do..."

Images from my memory surfaced unexpectedly.

[One of them is standing beside the high throne, his hand gently resting on the top of Serie's golden hair. Serie on the throne has droopy pointed ears and her whole little face is wrinkled, looking listless and having to endure it.]

In another scene, Serie, like a child, clings tightly to Genau's clothes, hiding behind him with only half her face showing, her golden eyes watching her warily. Genau stands in front, his face serious and businesslike, announcing in a flat voice:

"You can only touch it for ten minutes a day."

Standing opposite him, he was filled with immense shock and undisguised disappointment.

"Well!?"]

Frieren's voice pulled Methode from her reverie. There was a hint of annoyance in her voice.

"... Serie actually let you touch me? Unbelievable! But I won't. I'll show a unhappy expression too."

Frieren crossed her arms, her silver hair tossing slightly with the movement, trying to strike a pose of an elder, but her slightly puffed cheeks diminished the effort. She tried to raise her chin slightly.

"Besides, I'm much older Methode, so I can't let you touch my head."

Fern nodded vigorously behind her, her small head peeking out from behind Frieren's shoulder, her tone firm. She even leaned forward, as if to amplify her presence with her own body.

"That's right, that's right. Lady Frieren is the older sister, she can't just touch you like that."

Methode looked at them, her expression unchanged. But in her usually gentle eyes, a pre-prepared glint flashed swiftly. It was as fast as a shooting star, but it was definitely there.

She didn't speak, but calmly raised one hand and stretched it out to the air beside her. Where her fingertips touched, the space rippled almost imperceptibly. The next second, a magic book with a leather cover appeared out of thin air in her hand.

She held the book in her palm and handed it to Frieren, her voice steady and her words clear.

"This is magic that prevents the eggshell from falling in when you break an egg..."

There was a two-second pause.

Frieren changed instantly.

Her gaze was drawn to the dark brown cover of the book as if by a magnet. Her emerald eyes widened little by little, and all the previous "warness," "rejection," and "elderly air" within them quickly dissipated and Vaporize like a thin mist in the sunlight.

"Feel free to touch."

She stepped forward and took the magic book, her movements so swift they created a small gust of wind. As soon as she had the book, she eagerly flipped to the first page, her eyes greedily scanning the ancient text and illustrations, a huge, satisfied, and delighted smile spreading across her face.

Fern: "... Frieren!"

Her voice rose an octave, filled with shock and helplessness at how easily she had been bribed.